


to save me from tears

by blamefincham, thistidalwave



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Extremely Fast Burn, Love at First Sight, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: “Then I dunno what you need me for,” Elvis says, straightening up. “You already get rid of useless boyfriend, come to beautiful Switzerland, you’re doing right everything.”“Then why do I still feel awful?” Pierre-Luc asks, and then he immediately goes redder and takes the second shot of whiskey.“You need two things: time and alcohol,” Elvis says wisely. “And maybe a rebound fuck. But that’s not bartender official advice, that’s just Elvis.”
Relationships: Pierre-Luc Dubois/Elvis Merzlikins
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	to save me from tears

The thing about working at a romantic mountain getaway resort is that almost all the guests are happily coupled up, so Elvis always notices the ones who’re on their own. He _always_ always notices the ones who are on their own and as cute as the guy who just sat down at his bar—well. Slumped into a barstool might be a better description, but he doesn’t look drunk already, just sad.

Sad, Elvis can fix. Fixing sad usually results in a nice big tip, sometimes a monetary reward and sometimes something else with guests who are huge and curly-haired and have freckles on their noses. But Elvis is getting ahead of himself. He gives the guy his most charming smile and says, “Hi. Something to drink?”

The quick, polite smile he gets in return comes nowhere close to the guy’s eyes. Tragic. “Uh, yeah, thanks, I’ll take a mug of the mulled wine, and, um, a whiskey neat. Please.” 

Only years of experience keep Elvis from raising his eyebrows at that combination. “You want specific kind of whiskey?” he asks, and the guy shrugs, so Elvis goes for one of their more expensive bottles. He’s well trained. “I’ll start you a tab?” he offers once he’s got both of the drinks ready.

The guy says, “Can you put it on the room? Cabin 18?” and then he downs the whiskey as if it was a shot, which just makes Elvis’s heart go out for whatever he must be going through. If he checks the name on the reservation while he adds the tab to it, it’s just to better sympathize with this poor lost soul, and not for any personal reasons.

He can see the reservation history on the program he’s pulled up, and while there were two names on it when it was made, there’s now just one: Pierre-Luc Dubois. Well, doesn’t that tell a story. 

The guy—presumably Pierre-Luc—has his hands wrapped around the mug of mulled wine and he’s staring into it intently. Elvis steps away from the computer and back over to him to clear the empty whiskey glass and says, conspiratorial, “I’ll tell you secret: it works better as a drink than as a crystal ball.” 

That earns him a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” Pierre-Luc says softly.

Elvis sighs, dramatic, and leans on the bar on his elbows. “Okay, okay, tell me about all your problems,” he says, grinning.

Pierre-Luc blushes and shakes his head. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I mean, you have work to do.”

“Canadians,” Elvis says, pointedly rolling his eyes. “Always too polite.” He’s guessing, based on the Canadian flag on Pierre-Luc’s sweatshirt, but when Pierre-Luc doesn’t correct him, Elvis continues, “I’m bartender. My job is fifty percent pour drinks, fifty percent give advice. I’m good at one hundred percent of everything. You tell me your problems, I fix them, you give me a nice big tip, everybody go home happy.”

Pierre-Luc smiled at him in the middle of that, but he looks a little wistful by the end. “I’m sure you’re a great bartender, but I don’t know if even you can fix my mess.”

“Try me,” Elvis says at once. “You want another whiskey?” 

“That might help,” Pierre-Luc admits. He takes a drink of his mulled wine, and then says, “My boyfriend cheated on me.”

Elvis exhales, sympathetic. He pours a second whiskey, puts a cocktail umbrella in it on a whim, and slides it across the bar. “Lemme guess: right before you’re supposed to leave on romantic vacation? So you dump his dumb ass and say, ‘I’m gonna go to Switzerland anyway, because I deserve it?’”

“Because the plane ticket was non-refundable,” Pierre-Luc corrects. He’s looking a little flushed now, which might be the alcohol, but he’s also smiling, which… might _also_ be the alcohol. Or the cocktail umbrella. But Elvis gave him both of those things, so he’s taking credit regardless.

“Then I dunno what you need me for,” Elvis says, straightening up. “You already get rid of useless boyfriend, come to beautiful Switzerland, you’re doing right everything.” 

“Then why do I still feel awful?” Pierre-Luc asks, and then he immediately goes redder and takes the second shot of whiskey, like he’s embarrassed for having said it. He shouldn’t be; Elvis has heard much worse.

“You need two things: time and alcohol,” Elvis says wisely. “And maybe a rebound fuck. But that’s not bartender official advice, that’s just Elvis.” So maybe he’s flirting now, whatever, his shift is over in fifteen minutes anyway. 

Pierre-Luc looks up, surprised. His confused face is adorable; he wrinkles his nose and it does really cute things to all his freckles. “Did Elvis Presley have a saying about that or something?”

Elvis tips his head back and laughs. “No, _I’m_ Elvis. It’s my name. Yeah, really. You can see my license if you want.”

“Oh!” Pierre-Luc says. He goes very flushed again. “I’m sorry, it’s just, uh, an unusual name. But you probably get that a lot.”

Elvis shrugs, even though he does. “It’s cool, I like it. I don’t know how to dance like him, if you’re wondering,” he adds with a smile.

Pierre-Luc _grins_ , actually grins, and says, “I thought you were good at one hundred percent of everything?”

Elvis laughs, absolutely delighted. Pierre-Luc is picking up what he’s putting down, all right, and he’s funny too. This is perfect. “Maybe I’m being modest. I guess you will have to find out sometime,” he says, flirting even more blatantly.

Pierre-Luc drains his mulled wine and says, “Well, I’ve had quite a bit to drink, I might need some help, uh, making it back to my cabin.” He’s a little awkward, but he’s trying, and honestly the awkwardness just makes him even more adorable. 

“It’s good thing my shift is basically over, then,” Elvis says with a smirk. In another five minutes, but whatever, helping a guest is a bulletproof excuse for ditching early. “I’ll get your receipt, Mr. Dubois,” Elvis adds, exaggeratedly polite. 

Elvis tucks the receipt into a leather book and slides it across the bar to Pierre-Luc, who has tucked the umbrella behind his ear while Elvis was at the computer. He grins when Elvis raises his eyebrows about it, and that really settles things for Elvis. 

“Call me Luc,” he says.

—

Luc is quieter when they get outside. He puts his hands in his coat pockets and looks up at the sky in the kind of contemplative way that makes Elvis not want to interrupt whatever deep thoughts he might be thinking. Unless he’s rethinking taking Elvis’ rebound fuck advice, in which case—

“You think too hard,” Elvis says.

Luc starts a little. “What?”

“I can see every single thought. You know the picture of the math lady?” He makes an overexaggerated confused face and is pleased when Luc laughs.

“The _meme_?” 

“Yes. That meme is you.”

Luc laughs again and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not the math lady. I was just thinking that it’s pretty out here.”

Elvis is pretty sure that’s at least a little bit a lie, but he nods anyway. “Number one reason I move here.”

“I can get behind that,” Luc says, betraying himself again by sounding almost wistful. Elvis wonders if he’s about to take a turn into maudlin drunk territory. A moment later, though, he beams at Elvis, and Elvis forgets entirely what they were even talking about. “I’m glad I came here. Even if it was supposed to be romantic, and now it’s… ”

Elvis waits, but Luc doesn’t finish his sentence. “Beautiful and peaceful, yes, I know. What you think your shitty ex is looking at now? Gray slush in dirty street? You’ve got Switzerland and Switzerland’s best bartender. For sure your view is much better.”

Luc's eyes drop down, very clearly giving Elvis the onceover, and Elvis has to stop himself from shivering when they make eye contact. “Yeah,” Luc says softly. “It is.” 

It’s far more earnest than Elvis was ready for from what he fully intends to be a light and fun one night stand, but somehow it’s working for him anyway. He smiles and starts to reply, but Luc stops walking and Elvis realizes they’re right outside cabin 18. “Looks like you made it here safe,” he says instead. “You’re welcome.”

Luc laughs. “Mhm, thanks for walking me home, Mr. Bartender,” he says, taking a step toward Elvis. “Really don’t know how I could’ve made it here without you.”

Elvis huffs a laugh and mirrors Luc’s step forward, playing into Luc’s game. “You are assume I don’t have hidden motives.”

“Hidden motives, eh?” The corner of Luc’s mouth twitches upward, the barest hint of a smirk. “What could those be?” 

Elvis puts on his most charming smile and closes the distance left between them. “Just really one motive.” He rests his fingertips lightly on Luc’s jaw, not breaking eye contact, and waits.

Luc’s eyes drop to Elvis’ mouth, but he doesn’t move. The teasing expression disappears, and he bites his lip, looking unsure again. “But actually I maybe am a little like the math lady, and I… I don’t know if I’m ready for—”

“It’s just one night,” Elvis interrupts. He drops his hands to Luc’s hips and leans in so his lips brush against the soft skin just below Luc’s ear when he says, “Have a little bit of fun with me, Luc.” 

Elvis feels Luc exhale hard the barest moment before he turns his head and catches Elvis’ lips with his. It’s a soft kiss but not a hesitant one, as if Luc had just needed that last bit of permission before he went all in. Elvis immediately runs his tongue along Luc’s bottom lip and is gratified when Luc makes an almost pleading noise into Elvis’ mouth and kisses him harder.

“So,” Elvis says between kisses, “you gonna… invite me inside… or what?”

Luc keeps kissing Elvis and opens the door at the same time. Elvis has enough time to think that it’s impressively coordinated for a drunk person before Luc is dragging him inside and closing the door behind them. He pushes Elvis up against the door once they’re inside and kisses him again, and man, Elvis had already been appreciating Luc’s size, but it’s even better to see he knows how to use it. 

Elvis slides his hand down Luc’s back and grabs his ass, and Luc moans into his mouth. “Bedroom?” Elvis manages, and Luc nods, stumbling towards it without taking his hands off of Elvis.

They slow down just a little once they’re in there and give themselves a chance to breathe while they strip. Once Elvis has his clothes off, he reaches for Luc again, and they kiss as they tumble into bed. 

Elvis wants Luc to have a bit of fun after what he’s been through, and though he does seem to have made up his mind, there’s nothing wrong with reinforcing his choices, so he slides down the bed between Luc’s legs and takes his dick into his mouth. Luc moans, loud for how soft his voice is, and Elvis likes that—he enjoys a bit of positive feedback himself.

He wraps his hand around the base of Luc’s dick and pulls back long enough to say, “I like when people touch my hair,” before taking it into his mouth again. Luc takes the heavy-handed hint and gets a hand in Elvis’s hair, so Elvis swirls his tongue. 

Luc gets even louder. Elvis starts to prepare himself for Luc to come in his mouth, which is more than fine with him, but then Luc’s pulling him off and back up the bed. “Want to kiss you more,” he says, by way of explanation, and then he wraps his big hand around both of their dicks, which is even more fine with Elvis. 

Luc kisses him again, like he’d promised, and he strokes Elvis a few times. “You’re good at that,” he mumbles against Elvis’s mouth.

“Then why you stop me?” Elvis asks, pulling away a little so he can affect an exaggerated pout. This feels good, so he isn’t actually complaining, but he is curious.

“Didn’t want it to be over that fast,” Luc admits, sheepish but honest. It’s charming. Elvis has to kiss him again, he can’t help it.

Luc slows his hand down a bit, and Elvis moans and starts begging, utterly shameless. “Come on, please faster, I want—please, fuck.”

“You’re demanding,” Luc reprimands him, playful.

He does speed his hand up, though, and Elvis moans again and says, “You like it.” Luc doesn’t argue, and from there it isn’t long before they both come, Luc first and Elvis not long after.

Elvis flops over onto his back once they’re done and throws an arm over his face. He knows he probably _should_ get up, but he extremely doesn’t want to. Before he can start willing himself to, though, he feels the bed shift beside him, and then a warm, damp towel hits his stomach. He uncovers his eyes. 

“Don’t want us to stick together,” Luc says, climbing back into bed. That’s a pretty clear invitation for Elvis to stay, so… he’s going to, he decides as he wipes himself down. Fuck it, it’s not like he’s ever going to see this guy again, so he doesn’t have to worry about him getting the wrong idea—he might as well cuddle him a bit and sneak out in the morning. 

—

The thing about one night stands with guests that Elvis really likes is how uncomplicated they are. He just has to sneak out of their cabin, they do all the avoiding work for him since they know he’ll be at the bar, and then eventually they fly back to wherever they’re from and Elvis has no chance of an awkward encounter. It’s perfect.

Of course, that plan is dashed for this particular one night stand when Elvis sneaks out of Luc’s bed, tries to open the door, and finds it… stuck. He pushes on it with his shoulder, as quietly as he can, but it doesn’t budge, and so he pulls back the curtain and peers out the window. 

The problem is immediately obvious: they must have gotten a couple feet of snow overnight, because the drifts are all the way up to the base of the windowsills. Elvis knows the resort will have crews out digging people out, but it’s going to take some time. He starts to consider the logistics of climbing out the window—do these even open? Are there screens?—when suddenly he hears, “Did it snow overnight?”

Elvis jumps and turns around. It’s Luc, obviously, and isn’t he a sight for sore eyes—he’s wearing one of the resort-provided robes and presumably nothing else, if the glimpse of his chest and bare legs are any indication. Luc’s hair is rumpled, and Elvis can see the hickeys he sucked into Luc’s neck last night, and he has to stick his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t go over there and untie the sash of his robe right now. “Yep,” he says, instead of any of that. “Guess we’re stuck here.” 

Luc shrugs. “Well, I can’t ski anyway, so I’m not in any hurry to get to the slopes,” he says. “Want some coffee?” 

This breaks every rule Elvis has ever made for himself, but… what is he supposed to do now, jump out the window right in front of Luc? “Sure,” he says. 

He follows Luc into the kitchen and sits at the table, and a silence falls over them pretty much at once. Elvis is so bad at this part, he feels incredibly awkward. They don’t have anything to talk about; last night was just flirting and then sex, and—

“How do you take your coffee?” Luc asks, sounding much more calm than Elvis feels.

“Uh, sugar and milk, just a little bit,” Elvis says. That’s not very specific, but when Luc sets a mug down in front of him a minute later, the color is perfect. Elvis blows on it, then tastes it, and the flavor is just right too.

“Maybe I’m not the only one who’s good at make drinks,” he says with a grin. 

Luc sits across from him, ducks his head, and scratches the back of his neck, which is adorably bashful of him. And then Luc says, “I hope I’m not being too forward, but… last night was really great.” 

Elvis considers bending his rules for a morning quickie. “Hell yes it was. Just another thing your stupid ex is missing out on,” he says, pressing his ankle against Luc’s under the table and smirking at him a little.

Luc laughs and goes a bit redder. “No, I mean—yeah, that part obviously, but… I feel so stupid, saying something like this, especially when I said I might not be ready last night, but… I feel like we have a real connection?” 

Elvis seriously reconsiders his window plan. Maybe it would be worth it, even if he had to break it. Like, better the window than this poor sweet Canadian boy’s heart. 

“Lots of people say that after rebound sex if it was good enough,” Elvis says, quick and glib. He worries as soon as the words are out of his mouth that that was too mean, and he’s going to crush this delicate flower of a man, but Luc is… laughing?

“I mean, yeah,” Luc says, “Like, in bed, right after, or whatever. But it’s the next morning, and I still think so. Right?” 

The worst thing is, Elvis actually does know what Luc’s talking about. Luc is hot and the sex was good, both of those things are true, but now that he’s not actively trying to escape, he feels some kind of way about how even though the whole thing was as flirty and fun as he likes it to be, Luc also managed to be impressively earnest and real with him. It’s a lot more vulnerability than Elvis has seen most people show, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s drawn to it. It’s not much to go on, maybe, but there’s something there, or there can be if Elvis lets it. With the snow outside, he’s not sure he has a choice.

“I think I need you show me some more,” he says, with a bit of a smirk. There, Luc can take that as a come-on or a request to get to know each other better, and Elvis is mildly horrified to realize he’d be okay with either option. 

Luc’s eyes go a little wide. “How? By playing parcheesi?” he says, in a very innocent tone. Elvis cracks up, and Luc, to his immense relief, leans over the table and steals a kiss. 

They kiss softly for a while, and even when it gets more heated—Elvis licking into Luc's mouth to make him gasp, Luc responding by putting his hands in Elvis' hair and tugging—it still doesn't feel rushed. They make their way back to the bed eventually, kissing and tripping over their feet and laughing the whole way. When they get there, Luc pushes Elvis down so he's sitting on the edge of the bed. Elvis spreads his legs to make space for Luc between them and then looks up at him, marvelling as he reaches for the belt of Luc's gown.

"How are you still wearing this?" he murmurs, undoing the loose knot easily.

Luc laughs a little, but when Elvis pushes back the gown and looks up, Luc's breath catches. "How are _you_ still wearing—” His breath catches again when Elvis kisses his hip. "—all that?" 

"I'm a little too busy to take it off,” Elvis says, kissing his way up Luc’s torso and scraping his teeth lightly over his nipple. Luc makes the kind of choked off noise that makes Elvis want to spend the rest of the day teasing him. 

“But I wanna see you,” Luc whines, and Elvis grins again his skin. 

"Patient," he teases, running his hands up Luc's sides and then dragging his fingernails lightly down Luc's back. Luc shudders, and his hands tighten their grip on Elvis' shoulders, then loosen and drop down to the hem, pulling it up insistently.

"Please?" Luc asks, a plaintive look on his face, and Elvis can't very well resist _that_. He's only human. 

He lets Luc take off his shirt and is rewarded by Luc’s expression turning even needier, his eyes roaming Elvis’s body like they can’t decide where to look. 

“God, you’re hot,” he says, and Elvis has to pull him down to kiss him more.

“ _You’re_ fucking hot,” he says between kisses.

Luc laughs. “We can’t argue about this, we’ll never get anything done.”

“Who says this is an argument?” Elvis asks. “I thought it was a demonstration.”

“Right, how could I forget?” Luc’s tone is light, but his hands take Elvis’s words as more of a challenge than Elvis was even expecting, proceeding to flip the script on Elvis entirely by roaming Elvis’s body lightly while Luc kisses him lazily. He refuses to stop where Elvis really wants him to, even as he gets Elvis out of the rest of his clothes, though he pays special attention to the places that make Elvis beg the hardest—Luc's fingertips against the inside of his thighs, Luc's tongue in the crook of his neck, Luc's hands in his hair.

"Want you," Elvis begs when Luc pulls back to look him in the eyes after an indistinct amount of time spent mouthing at his neck. "Please, Luc."

Luc groans and finally, finally touches Elvis's dick. Elvis really starts to lose time, lost in the feeling of Luc touching him, Luc pushing him down on the bed, Luc pressed up against him, Luc, Luc, Luc. When he finally comes, it's with Luc's encouraging words in his ear telling him how good he looks.

He has no idea how long it takes for him to recover, but it’s definitely at least a bit—Luc has moved so he’s lying next to Elvis on the bed, propped up next to him and gently rubbing a hand up and down Elvis’s side. 

“Holy shit,” Elvis mumbles. “How did I even end up over here?” 

Luc shrugs. “I dunno, we moved. Wasn’t paying much attention, honestly.”

“Fuck,” Elvis says with feeling. He can barely feel his limbs, but he manages to roll over on top of Luc and attack his face with kisses anyway. It’s dumb and cheesy, but it makes Luc laugh, and when Elvis kisses him for real, the needy noise he makes has Elvis desperate for him all over again—which feels, very distantly, ridiculous and over-the-top and like something that doesn't happen to real people, but Elvis can't be bothered with all that when he has a naked Luc ready and waiting for him.

“You’ve been so patient,” Elvis says, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Luc’s dick. 

Luc moans, his hips thrusting against Elvis. “You told me to be,” he says breathlessly.

“That’s right, I did,” Elvis says thoughtfully. He wants nothing more than to get Luc off, but—they have time, and he should treat Luc just as well as Luc treated him. “I bet you could wait even longer if I told you to, couldn’t you.”

He takes his hand off Luc. Luc groans and arches up in protest, but he says, “Yes, yeah, I could,” and that’s all the permission Elvis needs to continue torturing Luc until he’s reduced to incoherent begging and scarcely needs Elvis to touch him before he comes.

Both of them are breathing heavily as Elvis watches Luc come down from it, marvelling at the blissed out look on his face. He wants to make Luc look exactly like that all over again—or at least see what other gorgeous, insanely hot expressions Luc will make with Elvis’s hands on him.

“That was crazy,” Luc murmurs, eyes still closed. He blinks them open slowly and smiles at Elvis. “Was it demonstration enough? Do you get what I mean?” 

Terrifyingly, Elvis thinks he actually might, but he kisses Luc instead of answering. He doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do about a _real connection_ , but he does know just how to touch Luc so that he doesn’t have to think about it anymore right now. 

—

By the time they’ve both come again and are lying tangled up in each other, Elvis can hear noise outside that’s almost definitely the crews clearing the snow, and he finds he’s actually disappointed. The sex was good, sure, but the company’s been even better, and so when Luc mentions being hungry, Elvis finds himself saying, “I don’t think the restaurant is open right now, but I know a guy. We could sneak in.” 

Luc’s eyes light up. It’s stupid cute. “Really?”

“Really,” Elvis confirms, hiding a smirk.

This time when Elvis pushes the door open, it goes easily. He’s not sure what time it is, and the fact that it’s still snowing the slightest bit—just enough to look pretty—doesn’t help him figure it out. He doesn’t really care, anyway. Elvis lets Luc get ahead of him just long enough to scoop up a handful of loose powder and shove it down the back of Luc’s coat. Luc full on yelps and immediately retaliates, which means that by the time they actually get to the kitchen, they’re both covered in snow and flushed bright red from laughing and the cold. 

Elvis dumps his jacket on a counter and flexes his frozen fingers. “I’m cold,” he complains.

“You started it,” Luc points out as he takes off his own jacket, but he comes over and cups Elvis’ hands between his own unfairly-warm ones. “Why would you touch the snow without gloves?”

“Because it was funny and you’re cute when you laugh,” Elvis says, and Luc laughs. “See?” 

“Sure, okay,” Luc says. He presses a kiss to one of Elvis’ palms, so casual it almost seems like an afterthought, and Elvis wonders how this is actually his life right now. “Can we just, like, eat anything that’s in here? I’m suddenly starving.”

“Maybe not _anything_ ,” Elvis says, but he takes the hint and goes to look in the fridge. “I don’t cook, do you?”

“Uh, kinda? I can do… basics?”

“I have actually no idea what that means,” Elvis says. He steps aside and gestures at the fridge. “You pick something.” 

Luc makes a hesitant face, but he does start looking in the fridge. Elvis hops up to sit on the counter next to the stove and watches while Luc picks out eggs and butter and a bunch of other things that Elvis doesn’t pay attention to because he’s too busy replaying this morning in his head. He wonders if he could distract Luc into another round right here—but then again, it’s its own type of sexy having a large man cook for him.

“I’m going to try to make omelettes,” Luc declares, as if he’s setting himself a challenge.

“Okay,” Elvis agrees. “I believe in you, Chef Dubois.”

Luc laughs and leans over to kiss Elvis quickly before getting to work. He keeps asking Elvis for his opinion, but Elvis refuses to answer, insisting that Luc looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

“I’m starting to think this pan is maybe too hot?” Luc says halfway through the process, poking at the eggs with a spatula.

“Pfft,” Elvis scoffs, even though he has no idea. “You browned the butter, that’s all. That’s fancy! You’re doing great.” 

Luc kisses Elvis like he does every time Elvis says he’s doing great, but then he reaches over and turns down the burner, so Elvis calls that one a draw.

In the end, they have two very sloppily made omelettes. They’re a little brown on the edges, but absolutely slathered in cheese, so Elvis is optimistic. Luc watches, obviously nervous, as Elvis takes the first bite of his, so Elvis takes his time chewing and making thoughtful noises like he’s a judge on a cooking show.

“Come on, just tell me,” Luc begs. “If they’re awful I can try again.”

Elvis finally swallows the eggs and grins at Luc. "It's good. All hail the Omelette Conquerer." He puts down his fork and does a golf clap.

Luc laughs and bows a little. "Thanks," he says. "I know they're not perfect."

Elvis shrugs. "What is?" 

Luc smiles. "My ex would never have said something like that," he says. "Not that I'm comparing you to him, he was just a bit of a perfectionist.”

“Right, because cheating on you is perfect behavior,” Elvis says, raising his eyebrows. 

Luc winces. “At least it meant that he admitted it right away, I guess?” He shrugs. “Anyway, I just meant that it's nice to just… go with the flow sometimes. I like that you get that."

Elvis gives a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah, going with the flow is my specialty."

Luc raises a curious eyebrow. "Yeah?" He takes a bite of his omelette.

Elvis would normally stop there, but something about the way Luc asks makes Elvis feel like he actually cares about the answer. "Yeah, I… I don't like to put down roots much. Too many times, I've been… it doesn't end well. People leave."

Luc looks sympathetic. "I know what that's like."

Elvis shakes his head. For some reason, he feels a need to make Luc actually understand. "Not like your cheater boyfriend," he says. "Like, I lost my dad when I was three. I've lost other people, friends, to not good circumstances, to bad choices that were not choices really. I'm lucky to be here. I think about that all the time."

Luc doesn't say anything, just reaches for Elvis' hand and squeezes it lightly before letting go. 

"I'm sorry, you didn't need to hear that."

"Sure I did," Luc says. "It sounds like you needed to say it." 

Elvis looks away. He feels weirdly vulnerable, but not in a bad way. More the way he'd felt when Luc made him beg that morning: on display, but contained, safe.

"And I do understand, in some ways." He turns his arm so Elvis can see the tattoos on the inside of his forearm and points out one of a winged-wheel. “My grandpa had a tattoo just like this one. He was the cool grandpa—he raced dirtbikes and fixed Harleys, and he’d take my sister and I for rides when we were little. I wanted to be like him so bad. Still kinda do. I think I’m lucky to have had him in my life, to help make me who I am. You know?” 

“Yeah,” Elvis agrees. He smiles, and Luc smiles back.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. Luc finishes his omelette, scraping the last bit of cheese off his plate, and then puts down his fork and looks at Elvis. He visibly hesitates, then reaches for Elvis’ hands and says, "I don't really know you or what you've been through, so I'm sorry if this sounds stupid, but… I don't think you should close yourself off forever. Life hurts, but it’s also beautiful. You just have to allow space for… things that can change you."

It should sound trite, but Luc looks so sincere, and his thumb is gently rubbing the back of Elvis’ hand, and Elvis is feeling so many emotions that he can hardly stand it. He reaches over with his free hand and pinches Luc’s shoulder. 

“Ow,” Luc says, “what was that for?” 

“Checking to see if you’re real,” Elvis says. “You pass, I think.”

Luc laughs, and Elvis stands up and dislodges Luc’s grip on his hand. He picks up both their dishes and heads for the sink. There’s no way he can look Luc in the eye if he’s going to recover from all that emotional vulnerability.

He takes his time with the dishes, trying to pull himself together. Halfway through, he has a thought, and he turns to look at a clock for the first time since that morning. He immediately balks when it reads 3 PM, turning back to the sink quickly, but he can’t unknow the time, and it bugs him until he finds himself asking, "When are you going back to Canada?" 

Luc hesitates just long enough for Elvis' stomach to flip before he says, "I’m taking the shuttle at six tomorrow morning."

 _Shit._ He knew it wouldn't be long, but… shit. He'd expected to feel relieved, knowing exactly what the end date was on this extended one night stand, but he doesn't at all, and that's terrifying. He slowly finishes washing the last plate and puts it in the drying rack before turning around.

"Well, then," he says, flashing Luc a smile. "What you want to do with your last fifteen hours in Switzerland?"

Luc stands and comes over to Elvis, standing close enough that Elvis can feel warmth radiating off him. He rests his fingertips gently against Elvis' jaw, tilting his chin up slightly, and says softly, "If it’s okay with you… I want to spend as many of them with you as possible.”

Elvis makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat and drags Luc into a kiss with his hand on the back of Luc's neck. "Yeah," he says, a little hoarse, when they pull apart. He clears his throat. "That's okay."

Luc smiles and rests his forehead against Elvis', breathing out a soft sigh. "Thank you,” he says. “I've never met anyone like you."

Elvis closes his eyes and breathes deep. He wishes he could go back to feeling like they have all the time in the world, but it's like he can hear a clock above their heads, ticking down their fifteen hours. He opens his eyes again and smiles at Luc. “Of course you haven’t,” he jokes. “I’m Elvis.”

Luc laughs, and Elvis soaks in the sound.

—

They stay in the kitchen a little while longer, debating what they should do next. Elvis is pushing for stealing cake and taking it back to Luc’s cabin, but then Luc looks out the window and says, “You know what I always used to do every time it snowed? Sledding.”

He looks back at Elvis, eyes hopeful, and Elvis can’t say no. It’s becoming a theme. He should probably be a little more worried about that.

Much as he would rather have lounged in Luc’s bed with far less clothing on, it’s worth it to source makeshift sleds and find a suitable hill just to watch how much fun Luc has the entire time. His happiness is contagious, and snuggling up behind him on the sled makes him look at Elvis with a promise in his eyes.

They stay outside until darkness falling convinces Luc to give in to Elvis’s not-so-subtle hints that they should warm up in the hot tub. It’s good for a few blissfully warm minutes before Elvis realizes that he miscalculated, because they’re in public and Luc is wearing far less clothing than before. It’s late enough—and the hot tub is big enough—that they can get away with claiming a corner of the hot tub to make out in for a bit, but eventually they relocate to Luc’s cabin.

It’s well past midnight by the time either of them leaves Luc’s bed again, and even then, Elvis is only venturing out because Luc complained that he needed sustenance again.

“How about this?” Elvis asks, picking up a packet of hot chocolate mix from the welcome basket that’s still sitting on one of the tables and presenting it to Luc.

Luc nods and takes it. “I can make it,” he says.

Elvis feels a little at a loss when he's not touching Luc, and he busies himself poking through the rest of the welcome basket while he waits. There are candles in it, clearly intended for romantic lighting, and on a whim Elvis positions them on the table and lights them.

Luc smiles when he comes over to the table with two mugs of cocoa. “Nice,” he says as he slides one of the mugs over to Elvis and sits down at the table. They’re in the same places they were sitting this morning, Elvis realizes, and he hides the wave of emotion that comes over him by drinking his cocoa.

Elvis watches as Luc takes a sip of his cocoa and is caught when Luc looks up at him. He smiles when he meets Elvis’ eyes, and Elvis can’t help but smile back. Neither of them break eye contact, continuing to smile at each other, faces lit by the soft candlelight. Distantly, Elvis is aware of how stupidly romantic this is, but he doesn’t care.

And isn’t that the thing? He should care. He should have run for the hills by now. There’s nothing keeping him here except Luc’s gaze, but Elvis doesn’t even _want_ to leave, and so maybe… 

What’s stopping him from trying something new? The thought crosses his mind that he could be a bartender anywhere, and that… it’s telling. No one else has ever made him even think about leaving. It’s still scary, but… Why should he pretend he doesn’t feel that connection Luc keeps mentioning? Why not stop fighting it? 

He reaches across the table and offers his hand, palm up. Luc takes it, and Elvis marvels at the electric tingle that spreads across his skin. He glances at his watch, then says, “Two o’clock… four hours to go.”

Luc squeezes his hand gently. “Should we stop wasting them sitting here?” he asks, the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Elvis nods, then shakes his head. “Yes, but first…” He trails off, unsure how best to say this. Luc raises an eyebrow at his silence, and Elvis sighs. “I think it is my turn to sound stupid. I think maybe you are not full of shit totally.” 

“No?” Luc says, his other eyebrow rising as well. “What am I right about?” 

Elvis gestures between them. “Us. When you said we have a real connection this morning… I knew what you meant, I just… don’t do things like this. But I’m sitting here right now when I normally would have made excuses hours ago, and I don’t feel like anything is being wasted. I think that means maybe you are right and I should open to change. I’m not going to run away with you to Canada yet, but… I’ve never met anyone like you either.”

Luc’s smile is practically blinding. “Yet?” 

Elvis shrugs, pretending to be much more casual than he feels. “I could be persuaded maybe. That’s all.”

“I can work with that,” Luc says quietly, wonder in his voice. He lifts Elvis’s hand and presses his lips to the back of it. It’s so disgustingly sweet Elvis can hardly stand it, and he wants so much more of it—so much more of Luc. There are a lot of things scarier than moving to Canada that he’d do for that.

**Author's Note:**

> 🎶 _Last Christmas, I gave you my heart  
>  But the very next day, you gave it away  
> This year, to save me from tears  
> I'll give it to someone special_🎶
> 
> We seriously didn't realize how neatly the plot of this fic fits with this song until after the fic was complete. Sometimes it's like that!
> 
> If you want to talk about these delightfully soft boys, our [twitter](http://twitter.com/thistidalwave) [accounts](http://twitter.com/ungilded) are always accepting new friends.


End file.
